When the sky explodes,
It rains iron and fire,
A hellish storm that devours the living,
Turning laughter into screams,
And homes into graves.
Each explosion is a heartbeat
A pulse of death resonating
Through the cracked streets,
Where flesh meets shrapnel,
And blood paints the walls in crimson.

Bodies lie twisted,
Crumpled like broken dolls,
Innocence shattered under the weight
Of a world gone mad.
The air is thick with the stench of smoke,
Mingling with the metallic taste of fear,
As mothers search for their children,
Their voices hoarse,
Cries lost in the cacophony of chaos.

“where are you?” they wail,
Clutching at shadows,
Their hearts racing against the ticking clock
Of survival, as minutes stretch like hours.
A boy, no more than eight,
Darts into the street,
Only to be caught in the crossfire,
His laughter silenced by a bullet,
His body crumpling,
Life extinguished like a candle’s flicker.

The ground shakes beneath our feet,
As buildings crumble,
Falling like the dreams we once held.
We pick through the rubble,
Hands shaking,
Trembling over warm bodies,
The blood pooling beneath our fingers,
A macabre river of sorrow.
A woman cradles her husband,
His chest was a gaping wound,
Life leaks away like sand through fingers,
Her cries a haunting melody,
Echoing the grief of a thousand souls.

And then, a wail breaks through,
Piercing the smoke-choked air—
A mother, clutching her infant,
The child’s breath a fragile whisper,
Gurgling against the dark tide of despair.
She rocks him in her arms,
Her tears falling like rain,
As she feels the life slip away,
Tiny fingers going limp,
The warmth fading from the small body,
A life cut short before it could even begin.

“no, no, no!” she screams,
The sound is raw, primal,
A guttural cry that echoes through the night,
But the silence answers,
And her heart shatters,
Splintering into a million pieces,
Each one is a memory of what could have been.

While somewhere in the chaos,
A father searches frantically,
Calling for his wife, his children,
The echoes of their laughter still ringing in his ears,
But all he finds are shadows,
And the cold embrace of despair.
He stumbles through the wreckage,
Every step a question,
Every breath a prayer,
As he digs through the ruins,
The debris is a cruel reminder
That life can vanish in a heartbeat.

Children huddle in corners,
Eyes wide with terror,
Watching as friends become ghosts,
Their innocent games turned to a cruel joke—
They draw pictures of blood,
Crayons red with rage and loss,
Where rainbows bleed into darkness,
And the sun is a memory
Choked by smoke and ash.

We bury the dead in shallow graves,
The earth swallowing whole
The laughter, the warmth,
Each body wrapped in yesterday’s dreams.
The sound of shovels striking dirt
It is a grim lullaby,
The final notes of a life snuffed out,
The ground trembling beneath our grief.

We are haunted by the faces,
The ones we could not save,
The images burned into our minds—
The child with a vacant stare,
The woman with her torn dress,
The soldier who fought,
Only to fall,
Crimson staining the ground
In a dance of death.

The nights are heavy with sorrow,
Each tick of the clock is a reminder
That we are still here,
Bloodied yet breathing,
Clinging to the threads of our shattered lives.
We gather in the darkness,
The flicker of candles casting shadows,
And we whisper their names,
The ones lost to the abyss,
The ones who will never feel
The sun on their skin again.

In the ruins, we find ourselves,
Forged in fire,
Scarred but unbroken,
Determined to carry their stories,
To scream their names into the void,
As the world outside
Turns a blind eye to our plight.
We are the remnants,
The echoes of what once was,
And we will not be silenced.

For every drop of blood that stains the earth,
For every soul that has been claimed,
We rise from the ashes,
A testament to our defiance,
To our refusal to be forgotten,
As we clutch our pain,
And hold it close—
A fierce reminder that even in the depths of despair,
We are alive,
We are here,
And we will endure.

.    .    .